


An Affinity for the Enchanted

by averynicecake



Series: Vi's Contributions to Pillars Prompts Weekly [1]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Animals, Childhood, Edér's love of animals, Family, Implied Aloth/Watcher, Memories, Pillars Prompts Weekly, Reminiscing, Scars, Siblings, can be entirely ignored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 13:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15340611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averynicecake/pseuds/averynicecake
Summary: Prompt #0049: CharmedOne would think, knowing this much about how to win over a wild beast, Edér might use his knowledge to his advantage when approaching with the intent to befriend, and maybe save himself a few hooves to the balls.-Edér thinks back on the first time he came across a charmed beast - the time he hoped wasn't his last.





	An Affinity for the Enchanted

**Author's Note:**

> First ever prompt for Pillars Weekly, woo!! Thank you very much to Ranna for nudging me to do it :^)  
> It isn't really /madly/ focused on 'charmed' - more inspired by it - because I kind of took the prompt and ran with it, and I ran really, really far off.  
> Not too long, but not too short, I hope.

The kinship of an animal is a strange thing. It's the lone source of companionship for many of those to whom the Gods have not been kind. Earning it brings a strange satisfaction for any kith with half a heart, and the harder you have to try to coax the creature into trust, the more rewarding it is – much the opposite of people, really. Animals don't see prejudice; all that fills their heads is an instinctive sense for who's going to wrench their necks off in a white knuckle grip, and who only wants to offer a friendly scritch and parrot back some nonsense noises – and for that, Edér is fond of them.

Well – that, and how damned _cute_ they all are.

Hanging around the countryside as much as he had meant, one way or another, learning to live alongside critters of all kinds. Sure, they weren't always the cuddliest or the fuzziest, and they sure as hell didn't smell fancy, but a tickle here or a treat there usually had them wagging their tails and clucking at your heels. A couple of years in the same place gave you a knack for using the affection of a single creature to win over its herd. Birds of a feather flock together, but they also tend to like the same kind of dry, old corn husk.

One would think, knowing this much about how to win over a wild beast, Edér might use his knowledge to his advantage when approaching with the intent to befriend, and maybe save himself a few hooves to the balls. One would be so _astonishingly_ wrong, on account of his inability to resist anything with gentle eyes and twitchy ears. It's always been this way.

 

The first fight he ever has with an animal happens in a clearing near home, not far past six years old. Woden's run down to the lake to get some fresh water, begging his little brother not to follow – though he knows Edér's never been all that good at listening, and after a little nagging, entirely through the pretence of being the responsible eldest sibling, he's convinced Edér that if he really has to come along, they should at least hold onto one another so they don't get separated. He's too proud of himself for mastering the art of needling Woden into submission to care about having to hold his hand.

“Whew,” Woden pants, waterskins slapping against his hip with an uncomfortable _fwep-fwip_ sound, “'s hotter than Helfire out here, huh?” He's right – early summer has come far too early this year, and the sun blazes every day like it's the last. Crops are wilting around their feet, too feebly parched to fight against their bare, calloused feet. The whole harvest is dying, all shrivelled up real bad. Edér works out that's why they need the water, but he isn't right sure. Maybe Mama's just thirsty. Maybe Woden needs it to wash his gross, sweaty hands – he really, truly hopes it's that.

“D'you think there'll cows down by the lake, Edér?”

He doesn't reply. His mouth is so dry he can't even spit, and his feet ache something awful from treading on flint the whole way, so he figures talking is a waste of energy.

Woden doesn't seem to mind. He hoists the skins up his shoulder, and hums, “nah, I don't reckon so. Too hot for cows. Tadpoles, maybe.”

Edér shudders at that. Tadpoles are icky and slimy, but not in the shiny way that frogs are, and they wriggle out between your fingers when you try to pet them. He doesn't like them much.

As they near the lake, Woden lets go of his little brother's hand and sets about opening up the waterskins, all 5 of them swinging at his knees, the cords tangling together on his arm. He has them all undone by the time they reach the water, and he rolls up his shorts to kneel against the rocks, pinching the neck of the containers and dipping them gently into the stream. Edér follows suit, cups his hands and scoops up as much water as he can, bringing it to his mouth so fast it splashes against his face and drips down his chin. Hardly a splash lands in his mouth. Beside him, his brother chuckles, and hands him the skin he just filled. He gulps it down as if he's never tasted anything sweeter in his life – and it just about feels like that, too. It's cool and wet against his scorched, chapped lips, and brings the vigour back to his throat as it slips down. He drains it all, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and thrusts it back towards Woden.

“Thanks,” he gasps through pants of air, swallowing thickly as he near collapses from relief. Woden shrugs, and goes back to dipping for water. He takes this as his chance to do some well-earned wandering, and sets off down the lake.

Sure enough, the cows that frequent are standing huddled around a rare patch of shade, eyes sleepy and half-lidded. It's a little disappointing. Edér likes the cows; they're big, and soft, and pretty, and they make funny noises when you chase them. Then again, he supposes he's too hot to feel like playing, anyway. Most of the wildlife have probably tucked away into their burrows and nests, if the deserted valley is anything to go by, and there's hardly a single person out either. A boy Edér thinks might be from their village is sitting atop a hill, next to a girl with long, wavy, flame-red hair. They seem as if they're having a picnic, but the girl doesn't look like she's having much fun, so maybe he's courting her instead. Girls seem so much harder to court than boys.

A soft chitter from behind steals his attention, and he turns to see a deer – a deer! – on the other side of the lake, nipping at a wound on her leg. There's a bloody hole down by her hoof, and she's licking it profusely, barely able to stand, hobbling to the water. She looks up at Edér with wide, pleading eyes, so rich with pain, and it takes all he can muster not to burst into tears right there.

He judges his footing, then vaults across the rocks in the bed of the lake, scrambling to make it to the other side without getting his feet wet. The doe, surprisingly, doesn't make a move, just sniffs and waits for him to reach her.

“Hey,” comes his brother's voice from a few feet back, “who have you got there?”

He hushes him, frightened the deer will spook, but she still doesn't budge. He reaches a hand up to scratch behind her ears, and she nuzzles into it, appreciative, still holding her leg off the ground. Woden wades through the water and clambers out, kneeling at his side. “Is she hurt? Let me take a look.” The doe whines as he pokes and stretches her wound, and Edér shoots an angry glare down at his brother, wrapping his arms further around her neck and petting her in long, gentle strokes. “It looks like an arrow wound. It's not too deep, but- where's the hunter gone?” He gets to his feet and starts scouting around, squinting through the midday sun, but there's no sign of anyone but the picnickers. Edér keeps petting the doe, tickling her nose, laughing at the big, sloppy tongue that comes out to bat his hands away. He wonders if Woden would let them take her home – but then, she can't walk, and she's far too big to carry. Maybe they could stay for a bit, have their own picnic of lakewater and dried-out apples from the trees, wait for Papa to come look for them and have him carry her back. No, Mama would never let him keep a deer. But he really likes her – she's friendly and fuzzy, and she makes little noises that sound like-

“HEY, KID!” He startles and whips his head around. “Hey! Geddaway from that deer!”

A man nearly as tall as Papa runs out from over the hill, trampling over the village boy, waving his broadbrim hat in the air. He looks much too old to be running like he is, but then Edér spots the shortbow on his back and the arrow in his hand, and the greying hair doesn't make a whole lot of difference any more. Woden is suddenly at his side, urging the deer to shoo, nudging her further until she stumbles on her ankle and lets out a screech.

“I'm serious, kids, _get away from that damn deer!_ ”

“She's my friend!” Edér yells back, holding tight to her neck, tears threatening to well. “Leave her alone!”

The man throws his hands in the air, slowing almost to a halt. “Will you fuckin' listen ta me? The deer is charmed! I put a spell on her! Give her another second and she's gonna rip ya ta mincemeat!”

Woden frowns and backs up a few steps, but Edér holds his ground. She's not charmed. She's gentle by _nature_ , not magic, and she's hurt, and he won't let some old has-been tell him what to do. He picks her up as best he can, which isn't much at all, and starts dragging her away from the man, whose pace has quickened vastly from what it was before. He bets he can get her back over the river and away from the nasty old man, but before he can even lower his feet into the stream, the deer goes rigid in his arms. As if Edér had never even touched her, she looses a screech that sets his teeth right on edge, and struggles away. He holds tight.

“Edér,” Woden calls, “just let her go!”

He doesn't budge until a quick growl and a snap of teeth send red-hot pain shooting into his arm, and he goes almost limp as the doe wriggles free and bounds away like she hadn't been shot in the first place. He drops to his knees and looks down at his arm, marked with a big ring of teeth marks, angry red and oozing blood.

“Are you fucking _kiddin_ ' me?” The man bellows, drawing close enough for his grainy, harsh voice to hurt. “Are ya touched in the head? Huh? D'ya even know what I'm sayin'? You jus' couldn't get away from that deer when I told you to, eh? Well thanks a fat fuckin' lot, kid! You lost me my dinner!”

“Sir, it ain't his fault,” Woden begs, standing in front of his little brother, resting his hands on his hips in the same fierce way Mama does, “we didn't think she could move. She'd been shot.”

“Yeah, I know, 'cause get this – I was the one who shot her! I swear to the fuckin' skies, it's like you kids can't figure anything for yourself. Get outta my way before I hunt you too.” The man shakes his head with vicious disgust, spitting at the ground. He starts to swagger away, but his eyes snag on Edér's bloodied arm. “Oh,” he says quietly, and then, “oh, _shit_ , kid, I didn't- are you alright?”

Woden frowns and turns to look, but quickly recoils. “Edér! Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?”

Overwhelmed, Edér gives in and lets himself burst into tears, a little from the pain, but mostly from the shock. He sticks out his wound so that his brother and the old man can have a look, and sniffles into his curled-up knees while they pour water on it and rub off the blood.

“Damn. That's a nasty bite she gave you,” the old man says, “I wouldn't have yelled at you if I knew you were hurtin'. Sorry.” He scratches the white whiskers at his chin. “You know, if you want ta make friends with a charmed animal, there are better ways to go about it. Once the spell wears off, they decide you're a stranger – and if you're holding round their neck tighter 'n a noose on a beggar, they ain't gonna like you much. The trick is to back off just before they snap outta it, hold out your hand real flat, maybe get a snack for 'em, and wait for them to come back to you. Once they think you're nice, they'll remember how good you were to 'em under the spell, and they'll stick to ya like glue.”

“Thank you kindly, sir. Edér is- he really loves animals. Can't keep him away from them.”

“It's the least I can do for bein' such an old fart to ya. I just got a little worked up. Why don't I take you boys back home, and then we can see what your parents have to patch up that wound. C'mon.” He pulls Edér to his feet and helps him cross back over the river, Woden leading the way back to the village. Edér thinks about where the doe might be. Whether he can really make friends with her if he comes back, or if he's been so stupid that he's frightened her off.

“Do you think I'll see her again?” He asks the old man.

“No,” he replies, tucking his hat under his arm, “but I think that bite will scar. And if you have a scar, you can't forget her.”

 

Sure enough, the bite healed under his Papa's bandaging, and faded from stark red to a dull, dusky white, just like the old man promised. It's hidden, now, masked by the scars of other cuts and nicks from creatures far less innocent, but if his arm catches the light in the right way, he can still see it. Even after thirty years. Of course, the deer and the old man are long dead now. Woden too. In fact, he thinks the whole clearing was destroyed in the Saint's War – so this is really all he has left to remember his home.

Words, however, never die. He still remembers _exactly_ what the old man told him. It's never come in handy, and nobody's ever asked about his childhood after hearing about his brother, but it's a nice thing to think about when the darkness seems like it'll never leave his head. It reminds him that something good can come from pain. And something good _will_ come. Sometimes, he thinks about talking to the Watcher about his story, just to try and alleviate her burden a little, but he doesn't think he'd tell it well enough for her to understand the missive. No, he keeps his tale to himself, and plans to keep it to himself until someone asks.

 

But it's hardly the time to think about such things.

He shakes the fuzziness from his mind and heaves his sword overhead, bringing it cracking down through the skull of a mindlessly bloodthirsty wolf, the froth flying from its muzzle as his blade lodges its skull into the earth. There's always that twinge of sadness that courses through him whenever he has to hurt an animal, but he tries to brush it off and remember that the animal might otherwise hurt _him_.

An arrow whistles past his ear and embeds itself in the eye of the last wolf in the pack, knocking it flat. Its legs twitch for a split second, and a bolt of magic chases the movement, but refracts from the wolf's corpse and bounces against an unsuspecting, quivering pup that's been hiding in the shadows.

“Serafen!” The Watcher scolds her crewmate, running to check how sharply he hit the cub.

“Sorry, cap! Itchy trigger finger- or trigger _head_ , I s'pose.”

Edér follows the crew to the Watcher's side and kneels beside her. Surprisingly, the cub is unharmed, sniffing and yipping at her fingers, eager to be scratched. Pricking its ears at the soft thud of his knees against the ground, it turns to Edér and starts pawing his legs, desperately nuzzling his hands over its head. The Watcher coos softly.

“She's okay,” she says, “it's just a charm spell.”

Edér lights up. “C'mon, cap, we have to keep her!” he beams. She looks at him with a restrained smile, but shakes her head. “Oh, come on. Admit it, you wanna keep her.”

She groans. “I _do_ want to keep her, but... Aloth said no more pets on the ship. And I want to keep him a lot more.”

“Oh, _please_ , Al! I promise I won't let her piss on your books – I'll train her up real good, I swear!”

Aloth sucks in his lip and shifts his weight between his feet. He's pretending to consider it. His lips part to speak his inevitable 'no', but then the Watcher looks up at him with pleading eyes, and he blushes all the way to the tips of his ears. “Fine,” he sighs, trying desperately hard to avoid looking at the captain, “but if I find so much as a pawprint on my grimoire, I will throw her back into the forest.” He cocks his head. “But won't she turn on you once the spell wears off? Can you even befriend a charmed animal?”

Edér smiles broadly, glances down at the set of teeth etched into his forearm. “Actually, that happens to be my one and only talent.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope it was okay!!! Your support and feedback is always appreciated *blows kiss* :^)


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